And I Hate The Band You Like!
by SaiyanQueenVega
Summary: Part of the music meme challenge. Red vs Blue. First up, Simmons seeks refuge from his new teammates and especially his new superior...


**And I Hate The Band You Like!**

**The Rules:** Set your iPod to shuffle and write a fic inspired by each of the first 10 songs that play.**  
The Fandom:** Red vs Blue**  
Rated:** PG-13 for swears and light slash

Song 1_  
Speed Over Beethoven_ by ROSE

* * *

It was the most out of place thing he'd ever discovered in a red base. And Private First Class Dick Simmons had seen his share of weird stuff as he'd been bounced from base to base before his assignment in the gulch.

He'd only been here for 24 hours, but he could tell that he wouldn't like this assignment. The rest of the squad already knew each other and seemed to view him as an outsider… It was like high school all over again.

But unlike high school he at least had Grif, though at the moment he was having trouble deciding if that was a good thing or not. It still blew Simmons' mind that Grif was now a sergeant. His sergeant. Grif outranked him… truly there was no justice in the universe. And the Hawaiian wasn't letting him forget it either. Thus, the situation he found himself in at present; avoiding his teammates' glares while also hiding from Sergeant Grif's constant commands in a large storage room off the motor pool, shared by all manner of cleaning supplies, spare parts, and one rather impressive electric piano.

Noting the layer of dust covering it, it was easy to see that the strange treasure had been abandoned. Tentatively reaching out his non-cyborg hand to hover over the power button he hesitated long enough to assure that there was no noise to indicate the presence of any others outside the door in the motor pool.

Knowing that he was alone he pushed the button.

Nothing.

A wave of disappointment washed through him for a moment before he slapped himself on the forehead and dropped onto all fours to search out the electrical cord. It lay coiled sloppily beneath. Now what were the odds that there'd be an outlet in this glorified closet…

Setting his helmet on the stool, the maroon private began peering behind supply racks and crates in search of a power source. After knocking his head rather painfully on shelving and disturbing a half dozen irate spiders Simmons' search turned fruitful at the discovery of a single outlet.

Once the piano had power, fingers arranged themselves at the appropriate distance from Middle C almost by instinct. The familiarity brought back memories of more pleasant times in his life. Times when his mother sat next to him at the seat of a baby grand demonstrating, teaching, and later accompanying as his child self learned the art of playing. Times when his cold and aloof father actually took the time to stop and acknowledge his son's accomplishment. A time when he'd once been seen as a musician, before he'd been shackled with the label of nerd by everyone around him at the tender age of 11.

Simmons took a deep breath and let himself play…

* * *

It was nearly two hours later when the clearing of a throat ripped him from the cocoon of peace that playing always brought about for him. The sight of Grif leaning against the door frame drained all the color from the pianist's face.

"What do you want?"

Grif simply raised an expectant eyebrow at him.

"…..sir" the maroon private ground out.

"Oh lots of stuff. Dinner cooked, jeeps polished, fat kids dancing DDR for my amusement… but at the moment I want something a little more fucking upbeat from you in here Mozart. Is that classical crap all you can play?"

Turning from white to beat red Simmons spat, "You weren't supposed to hear any of that. How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to know that you are in need of a change of beat" the orange clad soldier replied, striding over and poking one of the rhythm buttons above the keys of the electric piano. A fast paced background beat began to issue forth from the instrument and Grif smirked in challenge.

Truth be told, the classics were all Simmons had ever had any desire to play, so he knew little else. But he wasn't going to let his teammate challenge him. Not in this. Listening as the background rhythm played he suddenly knew the song that would work. He laid his fingers back on the keyboard and accepted the challenge.

The entirety of the song he was franticly compensating for the increased tempo, calculating the length of the notes and rests, and fighting every fiber in his body that screamed that he was desecrating a masterpiece… but the whole time he played he kept his eyes locked with his newly appointed superior.

When the final notes faded away leaving the room in silence the Dutch-Irishman finally spoke to his challenger. "Not bad for a **nerd** playing classical **crap**, huh?"

"Shame on you Simmons. Speeding through it like that. Mozart must be spinning in his grave." But there was a grudging respect in the orange-clad man's eyes and a smile on his lips.

"I was speeding over Beethoven actually."

"Whatever. Same difference…. That guy's dead too right?"

"Yeah. That guy's dead too Grif."

"…."

"…."

"Hey Simmons?"

"Yeah?"

"It's still Sir."


End file.
